Don't Fall in Love
by Ashi-Grey
Summary: One of Dumbledore's mad schemes. A strange black tent on an empty moorland, cockroach clusters, a spell that gives muggles magic or more specifically, a girl named Talia and an awful lot of paint. The only rule? Don't fall in love. Oh, and don't die.


**okay... I was attacked by an evil plot bunny, so I just had to write this, or I'd have gotten rabbis. Why rabbis, I don't have a clue.**

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Her shoes scuffed as she wandered down the path, the moonlight casting strange shadows over her. It was a path she'd walked many, many times before, always at the same time. It was late summer now, August, about half ten, and the end of summer holidays drew close. She sighed; she'd always hated school.

Being one of those people who have a curiously strong talent, she often struggled to find friends. She wore a soft, purple colour dress, that swished around her knees, and the sleeves, made out of a light, floaty material tickled the tips of her fingers. It was one of her own designs, created by her own hands, and that made it all the more special, much more so than any designer brand.

It was her release from reality. Art. She'd always had a talent for art, be that using paints or pencil, creating clothes and other textiles, but she wasn't overly good at anything else. Sciences for her were like jumping to the moon, and maths was a class she didn't even bother going to anymore. She enjoyed English class, but the words never flowed for her as art did. She enjoyed reading though. That was the other escape that she had: books. She was one of those people who could read and read and read, but best of all was her ability to remember. Once she'd read it, it staying in her memory, and that alone was the only reason she ever passed any tests in school. She'd just read the books on it, and then she could parrot back the information. Didn't mean she understood it.

Her hands slid inside the pockets of the dress, searching around for her i-pod. She pulled out a Coutts & Co platinum card, which was still in there from earlier that day, and a few random things that often live in pockets, but no i-pod. She sighed and put the card back in her pocket.

The path climbed up a hill, and she peered over the hedge, taking in the moonlit moor, just as it always was. She swung a leg over the wooden rail, and jumped down to the other side, laughing a little as she did so. She ran across the open moor, towards the big oak tree.

The first time she'd gone to that tree had been a dare. People said it was haunted, and she'd agree; it did look spooky, standing alone on the moor, the only living tree for miles, as all the others tended to get struck by lightning in the storms. Ever since that day, the tree had been a special place of peace for her, and she tended to visit it most nights.

Of course, neither of her parents knew she was straying from the path. They thought she just went to visit old Mrs Jennings, have some tea and cake, and then came home again. And for the most part they were right; she did have tea and cake with old Mrs Jennings, and talked with the old lady about the ways of the world, but that wasn't the real reason for her trips. Really, she would rush out of her last class, and into her brand new mini cooper (that she'd hand painted, as she'd hated the black that her parents had chosen), and she would drive home as fast as was safe (well, it probably wasn't, but she wasn't aversed to taking risks every once in a while). She'd hand the keys to Leslie, who would park her car for her, and she'd rush inside, pausing only to ask Annie how her day had been.

She'd always felt sorry for Annie, Leslie, Sophie and Greg. They never seemed happy, but she was never happy at Goldlands either. Stupid house. It had all been decorated by some expensive designer from London, so it resembled a show home. All pristine and perfect and _expensive_.

She'd rush through her homework, not caring if it was right or wrong, because she already knew what she wanted to be, and it definitely didn't involve anything to do with school grades. No, she was going to be an artist, no matter what her parents said. Just because her father was the owner of a few big companies, and her mother was a professional WAG, didn't mean she was going to be following in their footsteps.

She reached the foot of the tree, and paused to run a hand over the well known bark. Then she began to climb, ignoring the cuts and scratches that appeared on her hands and legs, and the snags in the fabric of her dress. Higher and higher through the branches, until she came to the highest one on the left you could sit on. And there she sat, watching out over the moor, swinging her legs back and to, back and to, listening to the leaves rustling in the late summer breeze, thinking.

Had she been able to capture the essence of that moment, she would have done, but a place as special, as personal as this was, didn't do to be captured. It was a wild, free type of thing, not to be trapped, and that was what made it special.

Suddenly the leg swinging stopped. The girl paused, subconsciously swiping a stray strand of dark hair out of her eyes. She squinted in the bad light, trying to determine if the strange shape was just a shadow, or if something new had decorated the moor.

Curiosity, as always, got the better of her, and she swung back down through the branches, adding more cuts and pulled threads to her appearance. Stumbling slightly over the uneven landscape, the girl ran towards the shape.

As she neared it her frown deepened. Truthfully, she'd expected it to be nothing but a shadow, the false moonlight toying with her. But no, there on the moor stood a tall, black circus tent.

The girl drew back slightly. She didn't trust easily, and she had no desire to trust this oddity. All the same, she was naturally curious, and it seemed only time until that got the better of her once again, which it inevitably did. She approached the tent carefully, stepping slowly and almost silently across the heather.

"Knock, knock?" she asked, pausing at a loss in front of the entrance.

"Who's there?"Came the voice.

The girl froze, tensed like a cat

"Someone who doesn't take jokes." She replied "At least, not stupid ones."

A chuckle sounded from inside "Do come in, child."

The girl bristled. She may not be a legal adult, but she wasn't a child!

All the same, she pushed open the flap of canvas, looking in at the gloom for a moment, before stepping inside the tent. Inside the tent was nothing but endless darkness, an almost suffocating feeling. The girl didn't have time to even panic about this though.

An owl, perched on the branch the girl had recently vacated cocked it's head, listening. Where had that faint 'pop' noise come from? Mice didn't make that noise. Nothing on the moor did, not even that strange girl who sat in the tree. It's big, glassy eyes scanned the moor with ease, not hindered by the darkness. Had it been able to frown, it would have done, as it's memory connected the now empty spot to the spot that had once held a strange tent.

Yes. Curious. Tents don't just pop in and out of existence, do they?

The owl spotted a mouse, and the previous (very befuddling thoughts) were wiped from its memory, as it spread its wings and took off after the poor rodent.

Miles and miles away, the girl in the tent sat up, feeling dizzy, and proceeded to throw up on the man's deep red coloured robes. He sighed and flicked a curious twig he held in his hand, and his robes were clean again.

The girl was many things, but cowardly wasn't one. She looked up, her dark eyes widening as she took in a man she had read so much about. A man she had watched in movies, joked about with her few and only friends. A man who, at the age of eleven, she had assumed would arrive on her doorstep and proclaim her a witch. Of course, he never did show up, because he didn't exist. Her mind was startlingly blank for a moment, and she openly gaped at him.

Albus Percival Wulveric Brian Dumbledore smiled serenely back.

"My name is Professor Dumbledore." He stated, settling himself with surprising agility on the floor next to the girl

"Talia." She stated, looking dazed "Talia Bramond. A Talia Bramond who's going to get killed for missing dinner."

"Wonderful. Do have a cockroach cluster." He said with a smile "I often find parents worry too much."

Talia stifled a snort. It wouldn't be her parents killing her for missing dinner; it would be Annie, the cook. She didn't bother to correct Dumbledore though, and she got the impression he knew anyway.

Talia and Dumbledore left the confines of the tent, Talia still feeling faintly queasy, but be that from the cockroach cluster she had unsuspectingly eaten, or from the horrible, spinning, squeezing feeling from the tent. Talia at first didn't notice a single change in her surroundings. They still stood on a Scottish moor, bathed in moonlight. She knew if she turned around she would see her tree, and in the far distance, the path and the hedge that lined it.

However, on turning around, no tree, path or otherwise could be found. Talia's lips fell open, revealing her hated braces and crooked teeth, and she breathed a single word: 'Hogwarts'. Behind her, Dumbledore chuckled, and gave a huge sigh of relief. It had been a highly risky thing to do, but as the strange, whizzing, whirring machines in his office had apparently shown him, this would be a risk necessary for taking. It would hopefully save the world, all by giving this simple muggle girl magic. Now all he had to do was figure out how to do it, and then decide which spell to use.

Would it overload a body that wasn't really designed or adapted for magic? Who knew how a muggle's body would react to magic? He sincerely hoped it wouldn't kill her; he'd taken an almost grandfatherly liking to her already.

The thoughts buzzed in his head as he led Talia up to the castle.

For her part, Talia didn't feel as though everything was real yet. Had it been any less... breathtaking, she would never have allowed a stranger (even though she knew all about him, and all the things he'd done, by reading) to lead her anywhere.

Talia, being the artist that she was, took great interest in beautiful things, and Hogwarts definitely came under that category. Her fingers already were twitching for a pencil and some paper, wanting to record the castle and its grounds.

She followed Dumbledore blindly, each time a new part of the castle hit her it made things a little less real, a little more make-believe. Things she already knew were there, things she'd actually seen before, but as a film set, and she was truly struggling to get any of her head around it. It just wasn't possible!

Her photographic memory ended up constantly pointing out mistakes that had been made in either the books or the movies. Things like how the corridors were more windy, twiddly and well... there were just so many more of them than on the films! It seemed as though every way you looked there was another passageway.

Dumbledore was starting to wonder about the girl's silence surely it wasn't normal, especially when in this kind of situation? Surely she should be gasping in shock or something?

Talia didn't say anything as Dumbledore gave the password. She didn't say anything as they climbed the stairs, or even as Dumbledore wandered over to his desk and took a seat.

"What year is it?" Talia asked eventuly "It is 2010, right?"

Dumbledore nearly fell off his chair in shock. Had he miscalculated that much? Ouch, he was getting old!

"Ah, I appear to have made a slight mistake. Not to worry, not to worry But no, it is 1977. Not much of a difference, really. Nothing to worry about."

Talia gaped at him, feeling a rush of anger towards someone she'd always had a lot of respect for (albeit for a fictional character).

"What do you mean 'nothing to worry about'," She scorned "Well it is something to worry about, you know. I'm no longer in either my own time period, or my own... own... ugh! I don't even know! But I'm telling you, where I come from, magic doesn't exist! What right do you have to force me here? Because I didn't sign up for this, you know!"

Dumbledore watched her with a blank expression. She paused for a breath, and feeling exceedingly guilty, he raised his wand and pointed it at her, wishing he could see forgiveness in her dark eyes. Squeezing his eyes tight in concentration he began to chant the words. Talia stood, frozen, feeling as though the wand was, really, just a gun in disguise. At that moment, she decided that no matter what, she was exceedingly glad she didn't have magic. Look what damage it caused! No, she was an artist, and she didn't need any more magic than a beautiful painting, didn't need any more wands than a paintbrush. No, Talia was very happily muggle.

Dumbledore felt the familiar surge of power as it rushed through his body, and in that moment, being the startlingly brilliant but somewhat unreasonable man that he was, he decided to try putting all the magic he could into her. It couldn't hurt to try, could it?

He finished chanting, and as he did so a blinding white light filled the room, and much to Talia's horror, snaked it's way towards her. She turned and grabbed the first thing she could: one of dumbledore's strange wizzing, whirring thing. She held it up, as though she was going to hit the light.

Gold would affect the magic, he knew, and so with a heavy heart, he cast the stunner, and 'accioed' the instrument to him, where he set it down on the table.

Talia couldn't move a single muscle, but she could still see the light as it headed towards her, and for the first time since the start of the 'trip', she was honestly terrified, and Talia didn't scare easily. And then the light in the room was gone, as though someone had flicked a switch.

Dumbledore heaved a sigh of relief, and un-stunned the girl in front of him. Talia whipped up to her feet again, fuming.

"What the hell are you doing?!? Do you even _know_ what you doing? Or am I just an experiment? Are you _insane_? Don't answer that; I know you are. God you're so infuriating!"

Talia ranted and raved away, not even noticing the glass that covered the pensive in the corner shattering, or a few of the strange instruments whizzing and whirring much more than usual.

"You have every right to do this, you know. It's not every day you are asked to save the world." Dumbledore told her calmly "I understand you know everything you need to know about Lord Voldemort?"

Talia felt a rush of understanding. Much though she hated that this had been forced on her, she did understand the logic. "You knew what you were doing, didn't you. You knew about the time warps." She accused

Dumbledore looked at her like a little kid who'd just been caught opening Christmas presents three days before Christmas.

Talia continued "So why didn't you go back to when Tom was in school, and either kill him then, or try to change him for the better?"

"Because to change him for the better would have been to go back and not force Tom Riddle Sr. to love Mereop using a love potion. That was the reason Tom Riddle went bad. Because he lived his whole life on the belief that love didn't exist. And unfortunately, in his life, it didn't. It was too late to change that. Besides, the pureblood mania thing would have happened anyway." Dumbledore explained

Talia frowned "So you do know about the Horcruxes, right?"

Dumbledore's face drained of colour, and he sat down heavily on his chair. The portraits in the room began to whisper between one and other and one of them fainted.

So Talia sat down on the floor, ignoring the chairs, her arms draped around her legs softly, like a model, her head rested on her arms. "Slytherin's locket, Riddle's diary, Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem, the Gaunt's ring, which is by the way, the resurrection stone, his snake Nagini, and later on a boy named Harry Potter."

Talia talked and talked, way into the early morning, and not for the first time was she glad she had a photographic memory and could remember most of the facts.

"So, if we can just destroy the Horcruxes, and then sneak up on Voldie and kill him, it's all good, right? No one but the baddies die, and everyone lives happily ever after?" Talia asked, sounding sceptical

"What do you believe about alternative universes? Say, if I come to a crossroad, and I go left, then in another universe I go right, understand? In the split second that I decided to come to your universe, and bring you here, I split this universe from another one. There is still a world where Lily and James die on Halloween, and where Harry Potter is forced to save the world. But hopefully in this world, that won't happen. If you'll help, of course."

Talia absent mindedly took a lemon drop, not realising that the little box had been levitated off the table, and had floated over to her, as Dumbledore watched with a smile. Yes, it appeared his spell had worked, at a curiously low level of damage.

Of course, the side effects could take up to many years to come into effect.

"Wonderful. Well, Miss Bramond, I would like to offer you a place at my school. It appears you're not a muggle after all."

Talia's first reaction was shock. Not a muggle? And then it was suspicion. There was no way anything unusual or unexplained had happened around her, so that meant she'd either just acquired the magic somehow, or by travelling across universes had somehow given her magic.

"That spell gave me magic, didn't it." She asked in a low, harsh voice

Dumbledore dithered around for a moment. To tell or not to tell?

"No. What spell? Perhaps it was an after effect from the journey? And I must assure you there is no way to steal magic. If magic is willingly given, and willingly taken, then yes. You would have to know about it, don't worry."

Yes, Dumbledore concluded, she didn't need to worry; he'd only asked her to save a world she didn't even belong in.

Talia was angry, very angry. It was as though she now had her freedom, but at the same time, she'd had everything she knew taken away from her. She was in a basically foreign country, with people she'd only ever 'met' through books and films, she could suddenly do magic, which hadn't even existed up until a few hours ago... and now she had to save the world.

Had Talia been one of those people who fold under stress, she would probably have become a complicated origami. Talia, however, was pretty much the opposite. She was a bit of an adrenalin junkie, something that she'd learnt to keep carefully in check, and much though she knew it was an irrational feeling, that high buzz and elation she always got from doing something really stupid was like a drug to her. Talia had never been particularly sporty, so she'd never been able to get a buzz that way. This seemed like a perfectly irrational outlet for that.

"I will still be able to do my art, won't I?"

"Of course."

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**So... is Talia too mary-sue? if she is, can you tell me so I can change it! Do you think she'll be able to change the future for the better? Or will it all backfire? **

**you've done the first r... now for the second one!**

**haha... translated that just means PLEASE REVIEW!!!**


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